So, all right; someone lived through the joy of learning, ignited in creative search, experienced engineering triumphs, but what does that poor punk care? He didn’t get anything from all that joy. So there it is: turn over the bloody tugriks, push the button, turn the handle… and go around like a jerk with a clean neck.
We walked Valery back to his hotel.
“So?” he asked as we shook hands.
“I have to think about it, Valery.”
“Think!” Lena gave me a hostile look. “You’re going to think about it?”
She really has no self — control. She could have held her tongue.
The funny part was that Valery didn’t even ask what I was doing. It was obvious to him that there could be nothing good going on at the institute and that I had to come over to work with him.
I’ll think about it.
October 2 7.
Ivanov called:
“Have you thought about it?”
“Not yet.”
“Ah, those women! I understand you, of course. Decide, Val. We’ll work together. I’ll call you tomorrow before I leave, all right?”
If back then, in March, when my complex was only beginning to plan and build itself, I had stopped the experiment and analyzed the possible paths of development, everything would have turned to the synthesis of microelectronic units. Because that was something I understood. And now I would be way ahead of Valery. The work would have gone down different channels, and it would never have occurred to me or to anyone else that we had overlooked a method of synthesizing living organisms.
But I didn’t overlook it.
How pleasant it had been using my engineering thought to create those plates with microcircuits in the tank: flip — flops, inverters, decoders! That ‘Poem’ of his, if you added my computer — womb to it, would be a sure thing. In fact, it would be his computer — factory. I was on top of things in that area. It’s not too late to turn around….
And work like that really could lead to a world or society of machines totally independent of man — not robots, but machines that complement one another. Perhaps that is the natural evolution of things? If you look at it objectively, there’s nothing so terrible about it. Well, there were protein (ion — chemical) systems on earth, and on the basis of their information electron crystal systems developed. Evolution continues.
Yes, but if you look at things objectively, nothing so horrible would happen if there was a thermonuclear catastrophe, either. Well, so something exploded, and the radioactive foundation of the atmosphere increased. But is the earth still spinning on its axis? Yes. And around the sun? Yes. That means the stability of the solar system has not been harmed, and everything is all right.
“You don’t like people!” Lena had said to Ivanov. What’s so is so. Hilobok’s stink, quitting the institute, bumping into our invention yesterday — they were all steps on the stairway to misanthropy. And there are plenty of such steps in the life of every active person. If you compare life experience with engineering experience you could really come to the conclusion that it’s easier to develop machines in which everything is rational and clear.
But, all right; but do I like people? It will all depend on that, what I continue working on.
I had never thought about it…. Well, I love me, however terrible that may be. I loved my father. I love (let’s say) Lena. If I ever have children, I guess I’ll love them. I don’t exactly love Valery, but I respect him. But as for all the people that walk around on the street, that I run across in my work, in public places, that I read about in the newspapers and hear about — what are they to me? And who am I to them? I like good — looking women, smart, cheerful men, but I despise fools and drunks, can’t stand auto inspectors, and am cool toward old people. And in the morning rush hour I sometimes get the TBB — the trolley and bus bananas — when I want to smash everyone on the head and jump out the window. In a word, I have the most varied feelings about people.
Aha, that’s the point. We feel respect, love, contempt, shame, fear, pride, sympathy, and so on about people. And about machines? Well, they elicit emotions, too. It’s pleasant to work with a good machine, and you feel sorry if you’ve ruined a machine or piece of equipment. You might curse yourself before you find the trouble.. but that’s completely different. These are feelings not about the machines, but the people who made them and used them. Or could use them. Even the fear of the atom bomb is merely the reflection of our fear of the people who made it and plan to put it into use. And the plans of people who build machines that will push man into the background also elicit fear.
I love life. I love feeling everything — that’s for sure. And what kind of life could there be without people? That’s ridiculous. Naturally, if you juxtapose Ivanov’s computer — factory to my computer — womb….
It’s clear. I choose people!
And the wise and strong Valery is even weaker than I am. He doesn’t pick his work; his work picks him.
(Come on, be honest — deep — down honest, Krivoshein. If you didn’t have a method for creating man on your hands, wouldn’t you espouse the point of view in favor of computers? Every one of us specialists is always trying to give our work an ideological base. You can’t simply admit that you’re doing the work only because you don’t know how to do anything else! A confession like that for a creative worker is tantamount to bankruptcy.
By the way, do I know how to do what I’m planning to do?…)
Enough! Of course, all this is very intellectual and nice: putting myself down, bemoaning my imperfections, worrying about the discrepancy between my dreams and actions. But where is that knight of the spirit with a higher education and experience in the field to whom I could turn over the project with a clear conscience? Ivanov? No. Azarov? I never got a chance to find out. And the work is waiting.
So whatever I may be, my finger will rest on the button for now.
October 28, A phone call at the lab.
“Well, Val, have you decided to do it?”
“No, Valery.”
“Too bad. We would have done some fine work. But, I understand. Give her my regards. She’s a nice woman; I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell her.”
“Well, so long. Drop in when you’re in Leningrad.”
“Without fail! Have a good flight, Valery.”
You don’t understand a damn thing, Valery. The hell with it. It’s over! I think I’ve gotten my itch to work back. Thanks for that, Valery, at least for that!
Chapter 18
You never know what’s good and what’s bad. Stenography came about because of poor penmanship and the theory of reliability from breakdowns in machines.
K. Prutkov — engineer, Thought 100
November 1. And so, without wanting to, I’ve proven that in controlling synthesis, you can create a psychopath and a slave on the basis of information on, say, an average person. It happened because the introduction of auxiliary information was done through crude violence (oh, I just can’t couch this “result” in academic phrases!). Now as a minimum goal, I must prove the opposite possibility.
The positive aspect of the experiment with Adam was that he came out physically unharmed. And he looked the way I wanted him to look. Now I have experience in transforming the form of the human body. The negative aspects? The “convenient” method of many transformations and dissolutions is ruled out categorically; everything has to be done in one session. And the “it — not it” method of correction must only be used in those situations when I know for sure what “it” is and can control the changes, simply, by changing only minor external flaws.
In a word, I have to start from scratch yet a third time.
I want to create an improved version of myself, handsomer and smarter. The only possible way is to record my wishes along with my information in the computer. It can either react to them or not. The worst that can happen is there’ll be another exact copy of Krivoshein — and that’s it. As long
as he’s not worse.
The physical part seems rather simple. I’ll put on Monomakh’s Crown and picture myself to the point of hallucinations in a better form — without facial defects (get rid of the freckles and the scar over my eyebrow, fix the nose, reduce the jaw, etc.) and body flaws (get rid of the fat, fix the knee). And the hair should be darker.
But as for increasing his mental capacity. How? Just wish that my new double be smarter than me? The computer — womb won’t register that. It deals only with constructive information. I have to think about it.
November 2. I have an idea. It’s primitive, but it’s an idea. I’m not equally bright at different times of the day. You get dull after a meal — there is even a biological reason for it (the blood is drained from the brain). Therefore, I’ll record information on me when I’ve not eaten for a while. Or smoked.
And here’s one more aspect of my mental ability to take into account: the closer it is to night, the more my sober and rational thoughts are crowded out by dreams, imagination, and feelings. That can be gotten rid of, too. My dreaming has already gotten me into enough hot water. Therefore, as soon as evening comes on — out of the chamber. Let my new double be somber — minded, reasonable, and well — balanced!
November 17. It’s been three weeks that I’ve been getting the computer — womb to perfect me. I keep wanting to say “You may!” through the crown, to see what will happen. But no, there’s a man in there! Let the computer absorb my thoughts, ideas, and desires some more. Let it understand what I want.
November 25, evening. The snow is falling on the white lamp post, falling and falling, as if it’s determined to overfulfill the plan. There goes that girl on crutches past our house again, coming home from school. She probably had polio and lost the use of her legs.
Everytime that I see her — with a big knapsack on her sharp shoulders, limping uncomfortably with the crutches, her body hanging loosely between them — I feel ashamed. Ashamed that I’m healthy as a horse; ashamed that I, a smart and educated man, can’t help her. Ashamed by a feeling of a great impotence that exists in life.
Children should not be on crutches. What’s the point of all the science and technology in the world, if children use crutches!
Could it be that I’m still doing something wrong? Not what people really need? This method of mine won’t help the girl in any way.
It’ll soon be a month that I’ve been planning what I’ll think about and entering the information chamber, affixing the sensors to my body, putting on Monomakh’s Crown, and thinking aloud. Sometimes I’m gripped by doubts. What if the computer — womb is doing something wrong again? There’s no control, Goddamn it! And I get scared, so scared that I’m afraid it might have an effect on the personality of the future double.
The next entry was made in pencil.
December 4 Well… in principle, I should be exulting. It worked. But I don’t have the strength, the energy, the thoughts, the emotions for it. I’m tired. Oh, how tired I am! I’m too tired to look for my pen.
The computer took all my desires into account in the physical aspect. I fixed a few things up in the synthesis process. As the double was appearing, I didn’t have to measure or guess — my practiced eye immediately picked up on the “not its” in his construction and controlled the computer as it corrected them.
I set up a ladder in the tank and helped him get out. He stood before me, naked, well — built, muscular, handsome, dark — haired — still resembling me but not resembling me. Puddles of the liquid spread at his feet.
“Well?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
“Everything’s in order,” he smiled.
And then… then my lips trembled. My face trembled. My hands shook. I couldn’t even light a cigarette. He lit one for me, poured me some alcohol, muttering: “It’s all right, everything’s fine, don’t….” He comforted me. That was funny.
I’m going to try to sleep now.
December 5. Today I tested the logical capabilities of double number 3.
First round (playing crosswits): 5–3 in his favor. Round two (playing words): in ten minutes he built eight more words than I did from “abbreviation” and twelve more than me from “retrogression.” Round three: we solved logic puzzles from the college text by Azarov, beginning with number 223. I only reached number 235 in two hours of work; he got up to 240.
I wasn’t faking — I was really caught up in the contest. That means that he thinks 25–30 percent faster than I do — and that’s from a simple — minded clumsy attempt at improvement. Just think what could have been done scientifically!
We’ll see how he is at work.
December 7. Our work so far isn’t intellectual. We’re cleaning up the lab. And not only because of the intertwined wires and living hoses. We’re dusting and vacuuming and removing mildew from flasks, and equipment and panels.
“Tell me, how do you feel about biology?”
“Biology?” he looked at me in surprise, then remembered. “Oh, I see where you’re leading. You know, I don’t understand him either. I think it was some kind of fixation coming from trying to prove himself.”
“Wow!” said student Krivoshein and even bounced on his chair. “Now that’s something!”
But how… after all, double number 3 was also a continuation of the computer — womb! That meant… that meant that the computer had learned how to construct the human organism? Well, of course. He was the first. That’s why all that complex searching and retrieval had been necessary. And now the computer remembered all the attempts and picked from among them those that led directly to the goal, constructing a program for synthesizing man.
That meant that his discovery of inner transformations was truly unique. It had to be saved. The best thing would be to re — record himself in the computer — womb, not with a vague memory of the search, but with precise and proven knowledge on transforming himself. But why?
“Ah, how much can you think about that!” He frowned and went back to the diary.
December 18. I don’t remember. Are these frosts the ones called Epiphany frosts or the ones in January? The northeast wind had brought us a real Siberian winter and the steam heat can barely hold its own. The grounds are all white and the lab is brighter.
I don’t know if all the biblical rules were followed but the new double has been christened. And the godfather was none other than Harry Hilobok.
This is how it happened. Students from Kharkov U. came for their year of probation work. The day before yesterday I dropped by the dorms for the young specialists and borrowed “for psychological experimentation” a student card and a directive to work here. The students gaped at me with awe and their eyes were aglow with a readiness to give not only their cards but their shoes for the good of science. I borrowed a passport from Pasha Fartkin.
Then we familiarized the computer — womb with the appearance and contents of the documents. We manipulated them in front of the objectives, rustled the pages…. When the passport, the student card, and the form appeared in the tank, I put on the crown and with the “it — not it” method corrected all the information.
Double number 3 is now called Victor Vitalyevich Kravets. He is twenty — three, Russian, subject to military service, a fifth — year student in the physics department at Kharkov State U, lives in Kharkov, 17 Kholodnaya Gora. Pleased to meet you.
Am I? During the operation the newly hatched Kravets and I talked in whispers and felt like counterfeiters who were about to be caught. The engrained respect for the law in intellectuals showed itself again.
We also felt strange the next day when we went to see Hilobok: Kravets, to report in, and me, to ask that he be assigned to my lab. My biggest worry was that Hilobok would assign him to another lab. But it worked out. There were more students that year than snow. When Hilobok heard that I would guarantee the material needed for student Kravets’s diploma thesis, he tried to foist another two on me.
Harry, naturally, noted the resemblance between u
s.
“He’s not a relative of yours, is he, Valentin Vasilyevich?”
“Well, sort of. A nephew three times removed.”
“Well, then it’s understandable! Of course, of course…..” His face expressed understanding of my familial feelings and his tolerance of them. “And will be be living with you?”
“No, why? Let him stay in the dorms.”
“Oh, of course.” Harry’s face made it clear that my relationship with Lena was no secret to him either. “I understand you, Valentin Vasileyvich. Oh, how I understand!”
God, how disgusting it is when Hilobok “oh, understands” you.
“And how are things with your doctoral dissertation, Harry Har — itonovich?” I asked, to change the subject.
“The doctoral?” He looked at me very carefully. “It’s all right. Why do you ask, Valentin Vasilyevich? You’re in discrete phenomena; analog electronics isn’t in your field.”
“Right now I don’t know what’s in my field and what isn’t, Harry Haritonovich,” I replied honestly.
“Ah, so? Well, that’s laudable. But I won’t be up for a defense for a while. My work keeps pulling me away. Current events don’t give me time for creative work. You’ll do your defense before I do, Valentin Vasilyevich, both your candidate and doctoral dissertations, he — he….”
We walked back to the lab in lousy humor. There was a creepy duality in our work: in the lab we were gods, but when we had to come into contact with the environment, we had to politic, sneak, wheedle. What was it — a characteristic of research? Or of reality? Or, perhaps, of our personality?
“After all, it wasn’t I who invented a system of ticketing humanity: passports, passes, requisitions, reports, and so on,” I said. “Without papers you’re a gnat; with papers you’re a man.”
Self-discovery Page 25